


The Things You've Wanted

by Thebes



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 03:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebes/pseuds/Thebes
Summary: Sid reflects on his relationship with Marc when the Knights come to town in February 2018.





	The Things You've Wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sebfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebfish/gifts).



> Hi sebfish, I saw your prompt for Sid/MAF, and I had to write it. I hope you like it!
> 
> Titles is from "Waiting in Canada" by Jann Arden.

Sid doesn't know what to expect from Marc when the Knights roll into town for their second and final game against the Pens. It seems absurd and absurdly cruel that this is all they get for the foreseeable future: two games a season and whatever stolen time they can create during breaks and in the summer. They haven't spent this much time apart since they were practically children, Sid's rookie year, a lifetime ago. They've made tentative plans to see each other after the game -- Marc texted to say that he has dispensation from the team to miss curfew, but Sid doesn't want to count his chickens before they've hatched. A bad game for either of them could sour both of their moods.

It's a surprise to see Marc in the halls before morning skate, a shock big enough to catch Sid unawares, his voice cracking in startled happiness. Marc smirks at him in a way that tells him he should check his skates for shaving cream and his underclothes for extra holes before he dresses. They chat with the equipment crew, catch up on team gossip, hug, and part ways. Through it all, Sid can barely look at Marc, too happy to be in his presence, wanting to keep his joy close, not to share it with everyone else around them.

The joy sustains him through morning skate and lunch, his afternoon nap and warmups. It lights a fire in him when he takes the ice just to be out there with Marc again, to hear him whoop and yell, to see him twist and cartwheel in the net. Sid doesn't score on him, but he hears Marc chirp Jake and Colesy for their goals, his voice bright, his words light.

After the game, after they've gone home to Sid's and they're lying in bed, Sid finally, finally, lets himself look at Marc. He looks good, beautiful, lying naked and supine, one hand tucked under his pillow and the other on his chest. He seems settled in a way he didn't when the Pens were in Vegas in December.

Sid watches him sleep for a while, traces Marc's body with his eyes, cataloguing the changes since the move west: his arms tan from the Nevada sun, his hair shorter, more unkempt, his soul patch gone. (Sid doesn't think he'll ever forgive Vegas management for making him shave it.) There are deeper lines on his face than Sid remembers, but they appear to be new laugh lines, not the pinched lines marking his exhaustion and frustration at being left by his team for the younger, better model (as he put it to Sid once, when they got very drunk that Christmas before the trade deadline).

Sid is fairly certain Marc doesn't remember that conversation, but it's burned into his memory, the way Marc had turned away from him so Sid wouldn't see him cry, the way Marc spoke in halting English and choked French, the gutting accusation that Sid would drop him just like management and the rest of the team were going to, that all of this -- their decade and a half of friendship, of love, of everything -- would be shunted off to the past, forgotten, as if Sid could ever let go of Marc completely.

Sid thinks about all of this and watches Marc sleep, his eyelids fluttering against a dream, fingers flexing and relaxing. He's otherwise still, restful in sleep in a way he never is awake.

(Sid asked Marc once what he dreams about when his eyes move like that. Marc gave him a toothy grin and said, "Stoning you in the shootout." Sid had laughed, the idea of Marc facing him in a shootout outside of practice utterly ridiculous. It's not so ridiculous now.)

Marc's nose twitches once, twice, and on the third time, he blinks his eyes open. He turns his head and catches Sid watching him. He smiles, a sleepy, happy grin, and reaches out to brush Sid's hair away from his face. Sid catches his hand and presses a kiss to his palm, skin rough where his blocker rubs. Sid will have to sneak a tin of rescue balm into his bag before he goes.

"Did you sleep?" Marc asks.

Sid shrugs. "We're off tomorrow; I'll be fine." He doesn't want to give up even a moment with Marc. He'd put off sleep for eternity if it meant more time.

Marc purses his lips, but he lets Sid pull him closer, lets Sid kiss him, lets Sid draw him into another round of slow and (hopefully, Sid thinks with a smile) satisfying sex.

(They've gotten good at this over the years. Their first time was rushed handjobs after taking silver at World Juniors, a frantic, fraught assignation after the heartbreak of their loss to Team USA. Sid remembers watching Marc bite his lip hard enough to bleed, remembers wanting to kiss him anyway, remembers wishing he could have willed them to a win in those last five minutes, just to get Marc to smile at him again.

It's the first time he realizes he'd do anything for Marc-Andre Fleury. It's certainly not the last.)

In the morning, Sid wakes to find Marc gone. His suit is draped over the laundry basket, though, so Sid gets up and goes searching. He finds Marc standing at the French doors to the back yard, staring out at the gloomy skies and freezing rain. It'll turn to snow later, make the streets treacherous. Sid wonders if he can keep Marc here for an extra day, claim that the roads are too bad to return him to his team.

"We don't get weather like this in Vegas," Marc says, his eyes still on the yard. "Never gets below zero." He turns and grins at Sid. "You'll have to come next July, when it's 35 on a cool day."

Sid makes a face; he's notorious for complaining about the heat when it hits 25. He moves into the room, wraps an arm around Marc, hooks his chin over his shoulder. "When you get tired of sweating balls, let me know. You can come to Cole Harbour."

(Marc has never come to Cole Harbour. Sid has invited him every year for the past twelve years, and he has always, always declined. Sid doesn't take it personally, not really. Before, they had the entire season for each other; the summer was their time for other people. Last summer, Marc was occupied with the move, and Sid was occupied with not thinking about the move. Now -- now, Sid desperately wants him to say yes.)

Marc draws Sid's other hand around him, tangling their fingers together over his heart. "Cole Harbour in the summer, eh?" he says, deliberately mimicking Sid's accent. "I think that would be nice."


End file.
